


Weight of the World

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Rolf Scamander learns how to fall and get back up.Written for the Battle of the Genres Challenge on MNFF.For anyone who has ever left and come back.





	Weight of the World

_Deva, Romania_

Rolf, the Brazilian Englishman who covered magazines and publications like _Witch Weekly_ and _Glamour Gazette_ , was a Scamander; he simply didn't have time for this nonsense. He passed his hand over his eyes and laid in bed for one more minute. What did any of it matter? If he stayed in bed, he’d be wrapped in the cocoon for hours, and nothing would happen today. A beautiful woman lay beside him. They’d made love in the early hours and fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Luna Lovegood had shared stories with him about her oddball days at Hogwarts, though these seemed like bedtime stories told from a father to a son because it didn’t sound like her. 

Luna Lovegood was comfortable in her own skin. She lived up to her name, though this last part went without saying. Rolf had intended to be the good boy and wait until marriage. Last night, he’d placed the amethyst ring on her finger and a kiss lead to something more. She’d danced a familiar routine and taught him new moves. Rolf shook his head, set those thoughts aside, and went to start the day. After he was finished with his morning routine, Rolf headed downstairs. 

He was Charlie’s man again. When they had left school, Rolf and Charlie went into the dragon program together. The reason the largest research dragon reservation was stationed in Deva and not in Bucharest was a simple one. Not only was it stationed near Transylvania, which called to mind the fictional Dracula, but there were mountains here and sheep flocked here, too. The weather stayed nice, and the culture seeped through the pores. 

Rolf never stayed put for long. He’d stayed in Romania for few years until his grandfather insisted he got his hands dirty. Newt Scamander had announced his retirement back in 1990. It had been a gradual step back, really, because Newt was a closeted control freak. Rolf got eased into life as a Scamander and he loved it. At thirty-six, in 2008, Rolf signed on as the head of the Scamander Foundation and took on his grandfather’s responsibilities in an official capacity. This sign off had taken place in Dorset a couple years ago. Newt still edited and revised his works, especially his work of love, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , and he travelled here and there. Age and sense, it seemed, had finally caught up with Newt twenty years into his so-called “retirement”. 

“Mr. Scamander,” said Charlie, perched on the countertop and drinking a coffee. The carafe lifted itself from the machine and filled one of the four empty mugs nearby. Five people stayed at Charlie’s large house at any given time, which helped with the rent. As Charlie had lived here the longest, it was his place. Rolf fixed his coffee. Charlie started the day off with an awkward, “Morning.”

If Rolf could blush it would’ve been written all over his face. He took after his Brazilian mother, so this didn't present itself as much of a problem. Charlie knew everything that went on in this place. Things got weird whenever Rolf overanalyzed things. Luna was the same age as Charlie’s sister, Ginny; Ginny and Luna were nine years younger than him. Was this like he shared a bed with Charlie’s sister? This thought had occurred to him before, of course, and it often got shoved onto the back burner. 

“We’re engaged.” Rolf shrugged this off. 

“Yeah, you are,” said Charlie ruefully. He snorted when Rolf choked on his coffee. 

Charlie was the first to rise and usually the last to go to bed. He lived for his people and held onto his crew. Charlie knocked up breakfast and told him about him about the American’s failed attempts to pick up the lovely gypsy matron at the nearby tavern. Charlie tossed him at copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and served it with scrambled eggs, leftover pork, and toast. 

They sometimes got the paper a day late. The owls travelled a fair distance, and the somewhat steep price presented itself as a tradeoff. In London, a witch or wizard paid five Knuts. The paper got delivered internationally only with the promise of a yearly subscription. When all things were said and done, they got the paper at a Sickle. Well, wizarding currency conversion rates made Rolf’s head spin, yet he understood enough to know they paid a lot. 

Rolf opened it at random and glimpsed a woman holding a Quill Quotes Quill. Although Rita Skeeter held onto those blonde bouncy curls of hers, no amount of youthful cosmetics hid the fact that she was a sixty something abusing the winding feature on a wristwatch. The wrinkles and revealing roots gave her away. Rolf held an intense dislike for this woman ever since she'd started publishing false unauthorized biographies about his grandfather. 

This edition got bound as a magazine. 

“What’s this?” Rolf wanted nothing to do with Miss Skeeter. 

Rolf respected the _Daily Prophet_ because there was no parallel to hold a candle to it in Britain. Despite fluffy writers like Rita Skeeter and Flavius Boot, some wizards and witches really made a name for themselves with this publication. Rolf, a closeted nerd, looked forward to reading the rare but immensely enjoyable nuggets submitted by Barnabus Cuffe. That man was an artist with a quill. An editor, especially one as busy as Mr. Cuffe, didn't often write for a paper when everyone jostled for a position. It was a rare treat. 

 

Cuffe always wrote the “100 Most Influential Wizards & Witches of the Decade”. Actually, a collection of writers, some of them who had never written for the _Prophet_ , submitted to this feat. Cuffe loved this assignment. People from around the world got the global nod from this thing. Rolf wrote one on of his grandfather in the last edition; he'd landed a Peacock Quill for that snippet, and Mr. Cuffe himself shook Rolf’s hand. 

Charlie snatched Rolf’s empty cup and refused to give him a refill. “Look at it, Scamander.” 

Rolf opened it. Charlie, annoyed and impatient, flipped through the pages. He stopped at Number 33. Rolf, bemused, spotted a photograph of himself standing on the Millennium Bridge studying a Billywig as a Muggle car zoomed past. In the photograph, he donned a long peacock coat over new jeans. He’d agreed to a photoshoot with Ginny Potter, though she’d said it was for practice and giggles. An umbrella flew away in the breeze. 

“Charlie, your sister’s a liar,” he said quietly. 

“Yeah. Whatever.” Charlie slapped him with the magazine. Though this publication was submitted by the _Daily Prophet_ , it came in another form. Shushing Rolf as he rushed past, Charlie thundered up the staircase and hollered for his housemates. Minutes later, he’d come down with Luna and the curly-haired American, Zane Milner. “Right, story time.” 

“It’s five in the morning,” complained the American. He wore a wedding band. At eighteen, he'd gotten married as a baby right after leaving school. “On New Year’s Eve.” 

“It’s 5:47. Eat this, American.” Charlie made him toast with peanut butter, a childhood favorite of Zane’s, and told him to sit down and shut up. The roommates were off on holiday because they traded off family time. Charlie flashed the magazine and laughed when Luna’s eyes got really big. “Listen up. Number 33.” 

He read the article. 

 

_Rolf “Newt” Scamander, Fiery Footsteps  
by Emeka Mwangi _

_I see fire._

_When does a scientist or a magizoologist know when he’s in the right field? It’s not because of your grandfather. It’s when others in your field start talking about you, or if you really want to know the dirty secret, it’s when others start arguing with you. We’ve found that man._

_At 25, he debunked a theory on thestrals; they're not unlucky … they are nature’s gifts. When I first met Mr. Scamander outside Nairobi, he handed me a matchbook and told me to figure it out. It’s rare to get a mirror image. In a world where magizoology was not accepted not too long ago, Rolf walks in his grandfather’s footsteps and makes strides of his own. He seeks no rewards, he claims no effort, because he stays the beating heart of his team._

_Never mind the fact that this Englishman is the head of an empire worth millions of Galleons, the Scamander Foundation. He’s the voice. This man holds compassion, intellect, and heart in the palm of his hand. Don't ask him to stay still because he won’t. We often stop at good enough, but he fights for what he believes in and suspends the world of belief itself. He’s built bridges between magizoology and herbology because there are no limits to saving the world, and his Heliconia Hypothesis will make your head spin. Here's to his light never going out._

Emeka Mwangi is a herbologist at the Zaire Zoo and contributor to _Night_. 

Charlie closed the magazine and grinned at his friends. Congratulations went all around. Charlie insisted they drink, and he downed two shots even though the rest of the group declined. It was too early in the morning. As she was awake, Luna made some fried egg sandwiches with mayo and chili hot sauce, Rolf’s favorite, and they snuck out whenever Zane disappeared to enjoy his day.

“You didn't know?” Luna sat on the half wall outside the Heartstrings Sanctuary and handed him two sandwiches. 

“No. Are you kidding me?” 

Rolf shrugged when Luna commented, saying he didn't act over the moon. He didn't feel up to anything this morning. There was no reason as to why he should feel down, but he did. Emeka, like many of Rolf’s friends, was a colleague and contributor from Nairobi, Kenya. Luna ate one of the sandwiches and swung her feet. They said nothing for a while and eventually sat next to each other. 

She laid her head on his shoulder. “Are you having one of those days?” 

From any other person this probably would’ve been a carefully worded insult telling Rolf to get over it. Did he not have everything? He learned about creatures and beasts at his grandfather's knee, and he was rather rich and famous. He was a Scamander in his own right and changed the game. Rolf slipped away sometimes and carried an unexplainable weighty sadness. It wasn't a Dementor, although it’s effects felt similar. 

“I think so.” He draped an arm over her shoulder. Only Luna and Charlie knew he disguised himself like this and fought to get through some days. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she said, offering him another sandwich. She whistled. “Emeka Mwangi. Isn’t that something? I’d be … I don’t know…” 

“Floundering like this?” 

Rolf, a burly man with no traces of what Charlie had called his pudgy badger, didn't even flinch when she smacked him playfully. He gave her a smile. She was honest, dead honest, with a caring heart, and he admired this most about her. Whenever he said things or didn't say things, she seemed to understand and nudged him along gently. Newly engaged, he should be dancing with happiness and announcing it to the world, for the weird researcher got the strange girl. 

“I want children.” After they chucked their breakfast in a paper bag, he placed her onto his lap. 

She nodded. “How many? Like, four?” 

“What? And be grounded for life? Whoa. You want four?” He held up four fingers and sighed, relieved, when she had no. “Not that I’m complaining. Well, yes, I am, but we’ve got to get busy if that’s what you want. You don’t want this?”

He gestured at the rocky landscape and buried himself in her. Luna smiled, running her fingers through her hair. At a certain age, or so he’d heard, people started seeing babies everywhere. They lived and experimented in their twenties. Luna’s friends had small children. Some of them, really, weren't really so small anymore. They’d circled around this conversation before because he’d travelled around the world with her for almost ten years. 

“You said it,” she pointed out. They were both only children in their families. Rolf had been severely spoiled by his grandparents, and whilst he'd enjoyed his childhood, he was a lonely weird boy. “So, this is what we're going to do? Get married and make babies? More than one.” 

“It needs a friend because friends are nice. Two or three.” Rolf nodded, pleased this was decided when she said this sounded nice. He chuckled when she said they sounded like they were settling down. “When are we going to tell Charlie?” 

“That you’re not a virgin or you’re engaged?” Luna raised an eyebrow and snuggled next to him. “There is no we here, sir. You’ve got to tell the work wife.” 

“The work wife? What’s this?” 

Luna shook her head incredulously and asked if he really didn't see the level of commitment he gave towards Charlie Weasley. Whenever Charlie sent an owl, Rolf dropped everything and rearranged timetables before he came running. No questions asked. Charlie enjoyed a rare privilege of having a Scamander at his beck and call, and it had probably always worked this way, for they fit together like cogs in a clock. Rolf jumped off the half wall and helped her down. 

 

_Cairo, Egypt_

Traveling with an old man and the world’s greatest suitcase gave Rolf an escape, and there were days Rolf really needed what Newt Scamander called another perspective in his life. Five months after leaving Romania, Rolf took Luna to Nairobi, Alexandria, Deva, back to Nairobi, and landed in Cairo in the dead of summer. Newt met them outside Cairo International Airport. He sat outside on a bench in slacks and a light jumper and checked the contents of his rucksack as Luna and Rolf approached. 

“You’re late,” said Newt, getting to his feet. 

“I’m not. Oh, five minutes. Cairo, Egypt,” said Rolf, checking his watch and switching the time zone. 

The face of the Cartier wristwatch flipped as it levitated and repeated “Cairo, Egypt,” before locking itself back in place. A thin wizard in white robes followed them with a wheelchair. Rolf guessed he was supposed to be discreet, but Newt preferred to pretend this didn't happen. At 113, Newt would like to walk into his grave and decline any and all assistance. Luna wore a simple cotton dress and fixed her light hijab before she stepped into the establishment. 

“Bet you got caught with that, didn’t you?” Newt snorted when Luna gave a noncommittal shrug and insisted Rolf fix her fashionable teal head covering. It was a gift from Muslim friends they’d met along the way; she had a set of these things. Rolf set down the case and fixed it. Newt stared at Luna, studying her like one of his creatures. “Interesting.” 

“Everything’s interesting to you,” said Rolf, picking up the suitcase. 

In Cairo, a modern city, it was more acceptable to wear Western style clothing here, though foreigners respected the customs within the lines, or they we not invited back or frowned upon. He went forward a few paces and stopped to alert his stranglers. He’d gained an hour Apparating from the savanna to the desert, and when he was running on precious little sleep as it was, an hour provided an excuse for a nap. But this clearly wasn't going to happen, They didn't go inside the airport, and when they started down the street, he stopped to get some street food and raided a fruit cart. 

“Here. Eat.” He placed two plums in her hand and tied the produce bag. “Mwangi wants to meet you, Grandpa.” 

“Emeka Mwangi? Well, I’m old, you know, so I’m pulling the senile card and insisting Mr. Mwangi visit me. It’s only fair.” Newt smiled when Luna took him by the arm and walked along with her. Luna ate a plum and waved at a group of Egyptian girls. Newt snuck his hand into Rolf’s bag, decided to nick it, and tossed the smallest girl a plum. He waved her over, and the girl, after getting permission from her young mother, came over. Newt placed dates in her hands. “Enjoy your Tuesday. Go back to your mother, dear.” 

Rolf slipped easily into Arabic and acted as the translator. The girl beamed at them and ran away. The Newt Scamander people knew was a cold-hearted man who first thought of his beasts and creatures, and this was true, but as he aged, he had a soft spot for the poor, the small, and the crippled. Rolf, or so Tina had told him, had never the true Newt. Something had happened to old Newt Scamander somewhere in the time lapse when he raised his son and grandson. 

“He speaks Arabic nicely, doesn’t he? He’s dead useful. Use your fiancé … or your husband as I hear it.” Newt grinned when both Rolf and Luna gaped at him. “When’re you people going to learn I’m not stupid? Come on. You got married in Nairobi. You’re showing, by the way, granddaughter, did you know? Or are we pretending that didn't happen either?” Suddenly self-conscious, Luna went up the staircase and kept glancing down. Rolf cursed and followed them into Bill Weasley’s third story flat. Bill travelled less these days, although he still around whenever the desk job bored him to death. He had three kids, but he got out whenever something got out of hands with the Curse Breakers and he needed to put out a fire. 

“Luna, there’s actual food in the kitchen. I went shopping.” Bill tossed his parchment rolls on the coffee table in the sitting room. Luna, saying she was starving, retreated into the kitchen and tossed him a pouch of Galleons. Bill caught it with a deft hand. Rolf noted this was a bad idea because Luna was going to eat him out of house and home. They'd agreed to pay rent and pitch in on the food budget. 

Rolf set his suitcase by the door. “Does everyone know?” “Ginny told me,” said Bill, shrugging. 

He shook hands with Newt and suggested Newt take the second bedroom if Luna and Rolf wanted to take the couch because it was cooler on the ground floor. Bill got up and waved Rolf over to the kitchen. Newt followed out of mere curiosity. Rolf basically played this marriage thing by ear and figured he'd clean up careless mistakes along the way. Luna had draped her hijab over a chair and ate something out of a container. Although he tried not to let this image drift into this head, he often imagined Luna as a pregnant Erumpent. 

Bill flashed two fingers and lowered is voice so Luna couldn't hear. “Scamander when Charlie… Charlie tells you it’s twins, something’s up. Luna’s skinny. Not anymore. When did this happen?” 

This question made Rolf feel rather stupid because he didn't know. They wandered back into the sitting room, and Newt laughed his head off. So much had been going on, and why would Rolf keep track of these sort of things? Bill tapped his wand on the coffee table and conjured coffee. Charlie had warned Rolf that Bill assumed everyone took it strong and black, and Egyptian brew offered a surprising kick. 

“The sex is that good?” Bill said nothing when Rolf gestured wordlessly and wildly at his grandfather. “Right, I forgot you’re weird. Scamander hatched from an egg. What’s up, Mr. Scamander?” 

Newt settled in an armchair and rested his bandaged legs on an ottoman. Newt held the position as both Rolf’s grandfather and father, which meant they shared an interesting relationship. Rolf hadn't had a sheltered childhood. Indeed, the world had been his playground because Newt had dragged him anywhere and everywhere. They’d spent one Christmas in Sri Lanka and dodged Rolf’s grandmother. There had been a row or something or another, and Rolf suspected Tina still didn't know what happened that year. 

“Newton, that girl is smarter than you,” said Newt. He smiled at Luna when she came back in and tucked into something with a spoon. “What’re you eating, dear?”

“Cottage cheese and whatever was in that white bag.” Luna shrugged when Bill said those were figs, and he had no idea how long they’d been there. He exchanged a look with Rolf. Rolf asked her to throw that out. “No. It’s whatever. You’re annoying me.” 

“Who?” Rolf knew who. 

Luna licked the spoon and claimed the whole container for herself. Last week, they’d headed back home to have a quiet ceremony outside the Burrow, but this had been more of a rained out party than a wedding before they jumped back to Romania with Charlie. Rolf found a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and showed them Luna in a rainbow and spangled wedding gown. 

“I bet Rita Skeeter devoured you in this thing.” Rolf jabbed his finger at the paper. 

Bill snorted and turned towards Luna for her opinion. “How much do you care?” 

“Not a damn bit.” Luna gave Bill a high-five.. Luna was weird, really weird, and those who loved her, especially the Weasley family and her close friends, took this to heart. Luna was Luna and she made no apologies for this. Newt picked up the newspaper and flipped through it. 

“Right. Well, I’ve got an interview with Barnabas Cuffe. Third interview.” Rolf snatched stuff out of his suitcase and went to grab a quick shower. He came our dressed in a buttoned down shirt, dress pants and polished shoes. He carried a plain blazer over his arm and transfigured the suitcase into a handsome briefcase. 

Bill wolf-whistled and gave him a thumbs up. “Daddy’s got to go out and get a proper job.” 

“I don’t wanna.” Rolf pretended to throw a tantrum and drug his feet. Bill tossed his writing portfolio at him and howled with laughter. Newt raised his eyebrows and asked if he could have his grown grandson back for a moment. Newt asked him who he was. Rolf cracked his neck and took a deep breath in an effort to ready himself. “Newton Scamander. I’ve got this. It’s mine.” 

“I thought so.” Newt nodded and went back to his reading after he found his glasses. 

“Come with me. Please.”Rolf turned to Luna for support. 

Until this moment, he hadn't realized he needed her, but he felt stronger with her by his side. Luna finished her concoction and positively beamed at him. She grabbed the head covering, though Rolf thought she didn't need it, and they went outside, walked a short distance, and Disapparated. 

 

_London, England, Diagon Alley_

They appeared by a brick wall outside the Leaky Cauldron. Rolf steadied her in his arms and tapped the wall with his wand. When Diagon Alley opened they shared a smile, for they were on home soil for the first time in ages; Rolf couldn't remember the last time they were together on the same page. Luna walked him to the office and helped him with the blazer. 

“So, no pressure here,” said Luna nervously, fidgeting with the jacket, “but it turns out Charlie’s right about one being two. And this is bad timing … and that’s my fault. But you’re my husband, and you are brilliant. You’ve got this, Newton.” 

“I love you.” Rolf squeezed her and strode into the office. 

He told the receptionist he had a meeting with Barnabas Cuffe. If this didn't work out, he could always submit his pieces to the _Quibbler_ , though the paper carried less integrity, and he didn't want be spoon fed by his father-in-law. Maybe he could write for the _New York Ghost_ , or the _Massachusetts Bay Chronicle_ or the _Washington Witch Weekly_? He’d never been in the Northeast, but he could fake American like the rest of these foreign correspondents. Hell, if he hadn't signed on as a dragon researcher after leaving Hogwarts, he could’ve attended Ilvermorny in his seventh year. He needed a backup plan; Rolf needed a backup plan for his backup plan. 

“Pregnant,” he muttered to himself as the truth hit him. He sat down in a chair. “Really, really pregnant.” 

Barnabas Cuffe took his sweet time because he owned this place. Notes folded themselves into paper airplanes and zoomed in and out of offices and conference rooms. Typewriters operated by themselves and clinked away; Rolf lived for that dinging sounded and ruffle of paper on these things. Award winning editions of the paper swapped places in display cases on the wall. The secretary had jolted a note to Mr. Cuffe, and it transformed itself into an origami creature and Apparated every few feet like a Diricawl until it disappeared altogether down a corridor. 

“Oh, my goodness. Mr. Scamander.” A thin woman with red hair walked over to him and embraced him. Rolf had seen Ginny briefly at the Burrow, but that was an in and out thing. He knew she was a close friend of Luna’s and knew the skinny on Rolf’s life before he received the owl. “How are you?” 

“Good, good.” Rolf patted her on the back and sat back down. He glanced out the window and spotted Luna’s retreating form. He’d bet anything she was headed to Florean Fortescue’s. Ginny, sports contributor to the _Prophet_ , had whispered Rolf’s name in Mr. Cuffe’s ear. Rolf understood the small talk nearly killed him here, but he needed to say it. “So … we’re growing exponentially. I was one, we are two, we are soon to be four.” “Awww. You look terrified.” Ginny gave him a one-armed hug. 

Rita Skeeter, her hair blonde curls obviously altered by a Color Changing Charm, strode in and did a double take. She still carried herself like she owned the world despite the fact that she’d been demoted from regular correspondent to the gossip columnist. 

“I’m staying with Bill for a few days,” said Rolf. 

“Really? Yeah, he said something about you stopping by in an owl. That’s cool.” 

“Cool,” said Rolf. He chuckled when Ginny feigned disappointment over breaking up a bromance for the elder brother. “Oh. Yes. It’s the red hair.” 

Ginny, sipping from her coffee, coughed a little and sighed when Rolf patted her on the back. Her brew went down the wrong pipe. Rolf reached in his blazer and handed her his handkerchief. Rita unfortunately zeroed in one this like she’d spotted a particularly juicy fly. 

“So, that’s why your brother isn’t married, Ginny? He swings both ways?” Rita edged her way into the conversation and nudged Rolf. “Your wife is going to be huge. I said hello … and she’s crying these big crocodile tears! What’s that about? I keep telling people Xeno’s daughter needs special attention at St. Mungo’s. What do you think you’re hiding? Is she all right with you seeking comfort elsewhere?” 

As far as Rolf was concerned, this deserved no comment. 

“Rita. Come on. You made her cry?” demanded Ginny, furious. 

Ginny shook her head when Rolf made to rise and thanked Rita in an undertone. Rita said he was most welcome and missed the sarcasm. Barnabas Cuffe, a walrus of a man, walked in heavily and took Rolf’s hand. Ginny left the office and told Rolf she had it handled. Rita escaped into her office. 

“Mr. Cuffe.” Rolf grabbed his briefcase and followed him in a handsome office on the second floor. Barnabas, a genial, beefy man, settled himself behind his desk and signaled at his Quick Quotes Quills to stop scratching in the background. He said Rita was harmless, really. “Mr. Cuffe, a Puffskein is harmless. I liken Miss Skeeter to the third head on a Runespoor.” 

Rolf left out the part that the third head on the three headed serpent often got devoured by the other two. He thought this went without saying, but what did he know? Rolf declined the Peppermint Toads and crossed his legs. Like Professor Horace Slughorn, Barnabas liked his creature comforts, and people gravitated towards him. Barnabas shrugged and poured himself some gillywater. 

“Last time, we talked about your submission to the Beasts Division of the Ministry of Magic to dissolve the Werewolf Register.” Cuffe smiled when Rolf filled in the blanks here and said his grandfather, Newt Scamander, had been the driving force behind the creation of the Werewolf Registry in 1947. Cuffe, nodded, saying they had all the time in the world. “Why go against your grandpa? That’s a powerful plea.” 

“An idea, like a theory, is a good idea until you open your eyes and realize maybe it’s not.” Rolf pointed out that he wasn't Newt Scamander, and he tired of telling people this. Scientists had disproved their own theories to show they had the power. Newt had made that call when he was fifty, and he now agreed forcing suspected werewolves to sign over their lives was not a good call. “If it’s voluntary and incomplete, and thus unreliable, why bother? Delores Umbridge tried to make it mandatory. Newt and I said no.” 

“Why?” Cuffe played with a Peppermint Toad. 

“My argument? We gave a man, a werewolf, an Order of Merlin, First Class ten years ago. Hang on.” Rolf opened his portfolio and handed over defenses he’d drafted on behalf of Remus Lupin. It was partially because of Rolf’s efforts that man had been awarded the prestigious honor. “When man is wrong, especially when man wrongs man, it is his responsibility to clean up. It’s right.” 

Mr. Cuffe skimmed the papers. “You knew this man? Remus Lupin?” 

“No, sir, I did not.” Rolf went with the truth. He hadn’t been around in the Second Wizarding War because he’d been lost in his travels. “But I knew his wife whilst I was in school. She was funny and probably would’ve given a pudgy badger a pat on the back. Pudgy Badger. that’s me. And, no I don't know how to fix it. Other than to tell you the Werewolf Register needs work. It needs to be torn down and rebuilt.” 

Cuffe nodded. He asked the obvious question: Why wasn't Rolf joining forces with the Ministry? Rolf, admittedly stumped, said he would certainly help wherever he could. Yet he had other responsibilities. Even if he got this position as consulting magizoologist at the Daily Prophet, he had other connections. He was head of the Scamander Foundation, for one, and he held certain loyalties towards the dragon reservations for another. Newt had been a juggler, too. Mr. Cuffe didn’t need an amateur enthusiast weirdo to run a piece on magical creatures. 

“Not a Xeno Lovegood,” supplied Cuffe. 

“Well, I wouldn't phrase it that way because he's my father-in-law, but, yes, putting belief in something doesn't necessarily make it true. My grandfather rescued a pair of Graphorns because he brought them back to England and rebuilt that population from nothing. You’ve got Newt Scamander to thank for that. Graphorns aren’t fiction thanks to the efforts of a man who used to be a weirdo. You don't want confirmation bias. That’s ash and dust. No. You want meat on the bones of your paper, sir, and you want spotlight on these creatures and beasts.”

Rolf got to his feet, feeling confident. Cuffe didn't need a squawk box, or another Ask Alice column, or another stupid gossip columnist. He needed a purpose to breathe life into the _Prophet_. 

“Pick me. And I’ve got a team of naturalists and magizoologists at your disposal. It’s a global effort. Tell me I’m in.” 

Cuffe stared at him for a long minute. “Yeah. Why not?” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously. Newton R. Scamander, Chief Consulting Magizoologist. You want to start tomorrow? I’m ready. Bring it on.” Cuffe shook on it and offered him a handsome advance and travel expenses. “Get your gang together.” “Yes, sir. Can’t beat that, can I?” Practically pinching himself over his impromptu pitch, Rolf went outside and walked over to Florean Fortescue’s. Luna had recovered and sat with Ginny. Ginny, expectant, frowned when Rolf didn't get on as a regular correspondent. He smiled, silencing her when he lifted his finger. He broke out into a dance and ignored Ginny when she insisted he never do that again. “You can’t be a regular correspondent, Mrs. Potter, when you’re the Chief Consulting Magizoologist.” 

“What?” Luna acted lost. 

“Shut up, Scamander!” Ginny got to her feet and locked him in a hug. She filled Luna in as she clobbered Rolf playfully with her handbag. She mentioned this was like beating Charlie. “He gets a team …. your team, Scamander. Dancing again. Right, I love you, and I’m proud of you… but I hate you so much right now. Seriously, that’s madness.” 

“Oh, my God. Your grandfather! Can you imagine? He’s going to lose it. No!” Squealing, Luna dropped her spoon when Rolf set his briefcase on the ground and lifted her into arms, spinning her around. They spotted Rita Skeeter across the street and Ginny made a show of waving at her before she left to break up a fight between two of her kids at Quality Qudditch Supplies. Rolf set Luna on the ground and kissed her. “So, you’re not angry?” 

“About the twins? Are you kidding me? No.” Rolf ordered a root beer float from Florean Fortescue. After explaining what this was, Fortescue said he liked that idea and gave him one on the house. He placed two on a serving dish. Rolf moved Luna’s half-eaten sundae over and stuck a bendy straw in one of the floats. “When I was five, this was Grandma’s secret weapon. You? Your job is to get gloriously fat and happy. You worry about nothing.” 

 

Rolf broke his rule and worried for her. He stopped traveling in November, which was painfully difficult, and suffered insomnia as December rolled around. Luna didn't sleep and gladly went on bedrest when they pulled for off assignment. They moved in with the grandparents despite the fact they lived ten minutes away in a new house. Newt had insisted he'd only ask once, and he wasn't really asking. 

 

Rolf found he hated the phrase "any day now", which is what the Healers kept saying. The appointments became more frequent, and Newt said Rolf reminded him of a Diricawl with its head cut off. He went to work, he ran errands, and he came home to a very pregnant wife. He took her out one evening when Ginny insisted on a double date. 

"How're you feeling?" Ginny led her over to a table and said she liked her dress. Rolf held out a chair for both of them. 

"I'm over this." Luna, usually patient and put together, threw in the towel last week. The Healer had predicted the babies would be here by the fifth; that was last week. Luna had called it quits back in Cairo when a nobody stole her assignment. Last night, they'd had a false alarm. 

"Okay, well, I got you a present. For you and Rolf." Ginny turned Luna's chin with her hand. Harry snorted when Rolf's jaw fell open. Next moment, Charlie Weasley walked in from a corridor. He wore a Heartstrings Sanctuary long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Grinning, he winked at Luna when she started crying and conjured a covered dish. 

"Mr. Weasley, you sexy beast." Charlie set the dish on the table and crushed Rolf's ribs in a bear hug. "That's what we were going with? Scamander. Not a daddy yet?" 

"No." Luna wiped her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I've missed you. What're you doing here?"

"Waiting on these guys. Scamander One and Scamander Two. What did I tell you to do when you were done with this nonsense? When you were at the end of your rope? You send Charlie an owl, hmmm? Did you think I was playing around?" Charlie kissed her on cheek and held her. 

"When James was born, Charlie came running." Harry grinned and clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. The same thing happened when Albus and Lily came along. "Ginny sent an owl a few hours ago. How'd you get here so fast?" 

"Well, Harry, it helps when you find out your brother's using liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion with Regrowth Hair Potion. And you get to call the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation a stupid, self-medicating mother fucker." Harry choked on beer and accidentally sprayed Luna in the face. Harry and Charlie gave each a high-five as Luna wiped off her face. "Percy's not happy. Nope. But I'll take one for the team. Ginny, thanks for that." 

"Mum's going to kill you." Ginny accepted a drink from a waiter. 

"Scamander babies," said Charlie, gesturing at Luna. "You're huge, woman .” 

"I stopped caring about that months ago." Luna uncovered the homemade dish. "Sarmale! Yes. I haven't had this since Deva. Rolf, sarmale."

"Yes." Rolf reached over Charlie and grabbed a fistful of cabbage rolls. He held up a hand and backed away from the table. The stuff hit the spot. Ginny giggled. 

"Need a Romanian minute there, Scamander?" Charlie raised his eyebrows and shook his head when Rolf stuffed his face. Rolf nodded vigorously. "The housekeeper. The gypsy girl?" 

"I know. Elena's on point. She makes these caramel, triple chocolate...." Rolf cursed. Charlie took out his wand and tapped it on the table. Another container appeared. Harry picked up a menu and burst out laughing when Rolf jumped around like an overjoyed fat kid. Rolf told him and Ginny they had no idea. 

"They are good," said Luna. She took one, broke it in half, and offered the chocolatey gooeyness to the Potters. "Taste."

"There's a reason I have had the same housekeeper for almost twenty-five years." Charlie nodded with Rolf. Rolf, who had lived with Charlie off and on. Elena was a valuable friend. Charlie paid her handsomely and she, Elena, was worth every Galleon. "She said, 'Stay with Mr. Scamander until babies come, Charlie. I want photos.' So, Luna, babies." 

They shared a quiet dinner. Luna laughed more that night than Rolf could remember, and they walked around Dorset when they left the Potters. For a man who didn't want to get married or didn't want children of his own, Charlie put Rolf's deadbeat father to shame, and these weren't even Charlie's kids! Rolf walked with Luna every night. On the third night of doing this with them, Charlie caught Luna. Rolf, bored, had started running laps. Charlie steadied Luna and signaled to Rolf.

The boys, fraternal twins, Lorcan Emeka and Lysander Charles, were born on Charlie's thirty-eighth birthday. 

 

_Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England_

Life got a little crazy. They fell into a routine, and although his life was ordinary, Rolf loved every minute of it. The first time he bought the boys with him to work, Rolf officially labelled Miss Skeeter as a frenemy when she hinted Rolf completely ignored Newt’s laws on breeding; weirdos simply shouldn’t breed with weirdos. How had Lorcan and Lysander been allowed to hang around for three and a half years? Barnabas Cuffe had his ear trumpet in that afternoon and suggested Rita Skeeter take a mental health day before heading to Argentina next day. She said this wasn't necessary. The editor insisted

“I wanna go, Mummy,” said Lorcan, who was wide awake in the middle of the night. They’d dressed the boys in matching outfits and had foolish hopes of a quick drop off, and Luna shifted Lorcan is her arms as she shushed him. 

“I know, baby. We won’t be gone long. I promise.” Luna kissed him and pouted at Rolf as she ran her fingers through Lorcan’s fine blonde hair. She didn’t travel much with the kids. Lysander, the swarthy one who shared his father’s thick curls, slept like a champion. Rolf knocked on the door of the rook shaped house. “But you’re going to have fun with your brother. Don't you want to spend some time with him?” 

“No. Mummy.” Lorcan ignored Xenophilius Lovegood when he opened the door. The old man had translucent skin and wore a bright yellow dressing gown. When he reached out for Lorcan, the little boy latched on with a death grip and cried bloody murder. “MUMMY, NO!”

“Okay, okay. I’m right here.” Luna shook her head at her father and said this was a bad idea. Lysander woke up crying, so Rolf had his hands full. They went into the house, and it was as untidy as ever. Lysander, the independent one, got plopped down on the couch and zonked out when he got his teddy bear. 

“That works for me,” said Xeno, placing a pillow underneath Lysander’s head and conjured a few light blankets. Rolf handed over two blue rucksacks and pointed at a decorative ornament on the far wall. “Oh, yes, that’s nice, isn't it?”

“Xeno,” said Rolf carefully, dialing himself down to dead patient. 

He often had had to talk his father-in-law off the ledge. Xenophilius Lovegood was closeted crazy, and Rolf had been debunking the old man’s theories one by one. Nargles, to Xenophilius’s credit, had been proven as fact, and they were slated to be listed in a revised edition of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. 

“Xeno.” Rolf picked Lysander up and accidentally jostled him awake as he snatched the rucksacks. Luna, startled, asked him what was wrong. Rolf jabbed a finger at Xeno’s new treasure. “What’s wrong? Identify that! Have you lost your mind, Xeno? What the hell in that?” 

“What? That’s a Crumple Horned Snorkack horm.” Xenophilius turned to Luna, seeking an ally. “Tell him. He’s closed your mind, Luna. Just because I haven’t found it doesn't mean it’s not out there.” 

“Daddy not … not everything exists. You did this back when Harry visited you, remember? When you told him about the Deathly Hallows? But we’ve had this talk.” Luna turned pleadingly to Rolf as he backed out of the house. “I … I don’t …” 

“Get my son away from that thing. Now, Luna! Get out here, or I swear … Luna!” Rolf rounded on Xenophilius when the old man told him to leave his daughter alone. “Shut up, What do you know? Nothing! How many times, Xeno? Belief is not everything. Everything can’t exist! If you don’t know something about something, you leave it alone!”

“Rolf?” Luna raised her voice and paced in the garden as she tried to calm the boys. “Newton. You are frightening them!” 

“An Erumpent horn? That’s a Class B Non-Tradable. You can't be this blind.” Rolf hugged Lysander tightly and asked Xeno to come out. 

“Oh, I see. You have to a Scamander to be an authority on magical creatures?” Xeno stood in his threshold and looked quite mad in his omelette colored dressing gown. 

“No,” said Rolf ferociously. 

“Ah, but it’s true. What’re you telling my grandsons? Don't believe it if you can’t find it in a book, Lorcan and Lysander! Worship Newt Scamander!” Xeno pointed an accusing finger at Rolf. “Keep trying, boy, but you’ll never be him.” 

“Xenophilius, come out. Please. There are hits and misses, come on.” Rolf offered his hand. Xeno spit at it him like an angry Kneazle. He slammed his door. Luna tried to go after him, but Rolf held her back. “I’ll come back and talk to him later. Let him cool down. We need to go.” 

“Yeah, but …” Luna stopped when Rolf squeezed her shoulder. 

“Confirmation bias. We can't believe in what we think we see. What’s a firm belief in magizoology? What separates us?” 

“We fight to prove ourselves wrong,” said Luna, intoning with what Newt and Rolf had told her for years. Rolf nodded and told her they’d drop Lysander and Lorcan off in Dorset. “You’ll come back and talk to Daddy? You promise?” 

“I promise. Come on, Luna you haven’t been out of the country in years.” 

Luna smiled. “You don't even like Quidditch.” 

“Nope.” Rolf took touched a finger to the little boy’s nose, making him go slightly crossed eyed. “But you know what I do love?” 

“Argentina and Brazil. South America is life. I get it.” Luna took the rucksacks and marched away from him. She Disapparated. 

“Mummy doesn’t get it.” South America was life. Rolf moved Lysander a little before he turned on his heel. He snapped his fingers and fell into a few steps of the salsa. Lysander giggled when Rolf blew into his ear and kissed him on the cheek. Rolf pictured his grandfather’s house in Dorset and disappeared with his boy. 

 

_Scamander Residence, Dorset, England_

 

Nothing about this was simple. Rolf and Luna had run into this before, yet the people who had raised them approached the same problem from different angle, and this led to different fundamental beliefs. Rolf had learned things as a child. If Luna didn't believe in the same principles, what, if anything did they have left? Rolf believed in evolution; he was not a religious man, and he didn't understand how the two could go hand in hand. He followed science and magizoology. 

Rolf and Luna lived in a house ten minutes away from here. Newt had made a point of telling them his home was their home; they had dinner at this place three times a week. Luna wasn't much of a cook. Rolf mirrored his grandmother in the kitchen. The boys had a bedroom at his grandparents’ place; they had a nursery, too, even though Rolf had insisted this took it a little far. Newt didn't care; Tina cared even less. Rolf and Luna carried the boys to bed and sat in there picture window. 

“Luna, you are a naturalist. A respected naturalist.” Rolf didn't care if they missed the Quidditch World Cup. Sure, he had an assignment, but the match wasn't taking place until later in the evening because temperatures dropped. He didn't want to crush her spirit. “You can't be a blind follower and an educated researcher. It doesn't work that way.” 

“My father isn't an idiot,” she said. “He … he doesn't know.” 

“That’s what's dangerous! It’s fine for he to write whatever … but there comes a point where what he does affects other people. A Erumpent horn? He had one of those six years ago … that’s not knowing … that’s stupidity.” Rolf tapped on the window and waved at his grandmother in the garden. A Kneazle. the fat one, Mauler, curled up on his lap. Rolf scratched him behind the ears. Luna said Rolf learned to walk in the savanna in the presence of a Erumpent. “That’s not the same thing. You know it.” 

“Yeah? Well, your grandfather traveled with a case full of creatures to New York.” She threw this back into his face. 

“He was twenty-nine? And I wasn't even a thought?” Rolf insisted this didn't count. Luna gave him the win. “And he openly said what he did was stupid. He understood those creatures intimately. Xeno … he’s playing with fire. There’s a difference. You’ve studied Erumpents with me and Emeka in Kenya and Nigeria. You know better.” 

“He’s not harming anyone.” 

“Yeah, except he almost killed Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley sixteen years ago. Oh, yes, and those two. He could’ve killed our boys!” Rolf gestured at the boys sleeping in their beds. Lorcan, not sleeping well, snuck into bed with his brother. Lysander fussed a little before he budged up and snuggled next to him. Rolf loved when they did this. Smiling, he slipped off the window seat and went to find Lorcan’s teddy bear. He handed it over. 

“Thanks, Daddy,” said Lorcan sleepily. 

“Not a problem, Lorcan. You’re one of my two favorites.” Rolf tucked them in again. 

Luna snorted. When the boys were born, the Egyptian healers had done something called co-bedding to speed up the healing process. It worked. Rolf knew they wouldn't be this cute forever so he savored it. “Daddy would never purposefully put the boys in danger.” 

“I know that.” He went back over to her and sighed when she kissed him passionately. It felt like a distant memory. They’d fallen into a routine, and Rolf had strangely found it comforting. He pulled her close and offered her his hand. They went into the bedroom and locked the door. “Luna.” 

“Yes?” They held each other. Rolf grabbed a box from under the bed. “What’s this?” 

“A gift for my wife.” 

“It’s not our anniversary to my birthday.” She lifted the lid. There was a dress with the sixteen qualifying Quidditch teams. He’d had it specially made in Rio de Janeiro. He’d returned to his birthplace recently to do a little soul searching whilst studying the effects of deforestation in the rainforest. “It’s beautiful.” 

“You are. It’s red on the inside.” Rolf shook it and rolled his eyes when she attached a price tag to the dress. 

“It’s red on the inside to ward off disease. Except 1530 was a long time ago.” Luna humored him. She held her hair as he zipped it. “You’re the best husband.” 

“A happy wife means a happy life.” His grandfather gave him this bit of advice ages ago, and he failed to understand his meaning until he married. Rolf asked if there was any way he'd get her out of this thing later on in the afternoon. She shushed him. “Want another baby?” 

“No,” she scoffed. What would this do to her career? Rolf knew it didn't hurt to throw the question out there. “You’re gone a lot.”

“Not a lot.” Rolf acted very cautious about this. Thinking this might spark another row, he said, “Luna, it’s the Foundation.” 

“I know. The boys miss you. I miss you, and the answer isn't always to have more. And Tina and Newt … if something happens.” Luna shrugged. They were spread thin. She laughed. “You really want to land Charlie with another godchild? We had to promise not to die … or give him any responsibility. You remember that conversation?” 

“We should’ve chosen Emeka,” said Rolf. 

“Emeka Mwangi. Oh, I wonder, who threw that suggestion out there? Who was that?” 

“You. You want me to tell you’re right?” 

“No. Charlie’s already told me Emeka’s his backup plan. You cannot share that.” 

“Bastard.” 

“No, Charlie said no. You kept asking him, so he gets that right. Charlie doesn't want a wife. Charlie doesn't want children.” Luna asked him not to fit a square into a circle. “Gifts and lessons. The line gets drawn there. No dying.” 

“Right. On the plus side, he’ll never forget their birthday.” 

“Right? That’s proper planning. Look at us.” Luna raised her hand and slapped skin with him. “We are geniuses.” 

A few hours later, Luna salted turtle caramel brownies, Elena’s recipe, in a container and placed them in a rucksack. She left second batch for the old people and the boys. Newt licked the spatula and gave her a thumbs up as he retreated in his office. Rolf said goodbye to his grandparents and got beat with the plastic spatula when he attempted to sneak a peek at Newt’s research.  
“Paws off, you. Go away.” Newt kicked him out of his office and told Luna to keep him away until tomorrow. 

“Grandpa,” protested Rolf. “I’m your favorite.” 

“Ha. Thanks to her, I’ve got a choice.” Newt jerked his head at Luna. Luna beamed. “Goodbye, Newton. Have a good time. Clear your schedule in December, please, we’re going to Africa.”

Before Rolf could ask why, Newt slammed the door in his face after he said goodbye to Luna. Rolf, figuring he’d get filled in later, shrugged and grabbed his rucksack and threw it over his shoulder. Luna shouted goodbye to Tina and chased after him. Rolf winked at Tina when she paused in her gardening long enough to say he was her favorite grandson. 

 

_Patagonian Desert, Argentina_

 

Rolf took Luna by the arm and they Disapparated. When they arrived in the Patagonian Desert, Rolf handed his tickets over to a manager and smiled when Luna broke out in Spanish with the locals. “Look who’s back.” 

“Yeah.” Luna paused as they entered the campsite. Rolf had completed forgotten to pack a tent or other lodging in their hurry to leave the house. “Oooh, we’re slumming again. That’s exciting. Are you going to tell these people you’re Scamander? Play that card!” 

“Someone’s a little excited,” he said. Rolf spotted Ginny running past because she was late. Rolf guessed she’d been slated in a seat in the commentator’s box. The Potter family had wandered off, so Rolf and Luna decided to take the scenic route. In big gatherings, chances were, you ran into someone you knew. Not far off, Bill Weasley flagged him down. 

“Scamander. Nice to see you amongst the living. Not the beasties living.” Bill clapped him on the shoulder and said his crew was off wth Harry and Viktor Krum. Bill had pitched his tent and stayed behind with his wife and Charlie. Bill’s wife said hello and not much else. “I haven’t Luna since before she became a they. How’re those babies, Mummy?” 

“They run us everywhere. It’s … it’s great. Lysander is learning how to win over Grandpa Newt. Not that it’s hard.” Luna hugged Charlie. “Charlie. Christmas in Nairobi?” 

“With the little ones? And Newt? Please say we’re trekking the rainforest with Newt Scamander.” Charlie whooped when Rolf said yes. “And miss the boys’ first trip abroad? Hell, no. I’m in. Oooh, and I get to meet this Mr. Mwangi? We’ve told this old man my twin’s cooler, right?” 

“Whoa, no knocking Mwangi. No.” Luna held up a hand, stopping him right there. She threw out a timeout. 

Bill grinned and went to grab some beers. Luna checked the time and thanked Bill and Fluer for letting them stay with them. Rolf didn't know if they were staying overnight. When the torches lit themselves, the Potter and Weasley kids followed their parents to the pitch and climbed up to VIP Box 2. Luna walked in between Charlie and Rolf and almost lost her shoe climbing up the steps. Ginny, laughing, caught it as it fell in to the commentator’s box and cheered when Rolf let it slip through his fingers. 

. “That’s why Scamanders don’t play Quidditch.” Rolf waved the shoe in Ginny’s direction and picked it up. Rita Skeeter glared daggers at him and pretended he wasn't there. Cuffe might’ve actually said something to her about yesterday’s cheap comments. Rolf slipped the shoe on Luna’s foot and ran down the steps when Ginny called to him. “What’s up?” 

“Oh I was just wondering how a Brazilian kicks off a party.” Ginny set up her station. Rolf said he had no idea, and she should share whenever she found out! As he started back up the stands, he broke out into solo steps of a ballroom samba. Rita stared at him, speechless. “Scamander, you can dance. When did this happen?” 

“You want fun? Rio de Janeiro.” He climbed the steps again and slapped his hand on the railing. Ginny shouted after him, ignoring whatever Rita said, though this hardly mattered. Rolf didn't have to fall apart today. “You don't know about that life, Mrs. Potter. Funny story. Find me later. Go, Brasil!”

**Author's Note:**

> It took a good while to write this because I didn't know how to properly do it and place it in the genre I wanted. I knew what to say. I wrote this with the idea that Rolf Scamander suffered a lifelong battle of clinical depression, but that he still lived. 
> 
> I hope you liked it. Thoughts?


End file.
